“You don’t know the truth,” she said quickly. “Perhaps you don’t know what kindness is, or charity—some people don’t. You would not wait for him to explain, and you have nearly killed us with anxiety. We—we did not know what had become of him.”
“Killed us,” I repeated, vacantly; “are there many of you?”
“My sister-in-law and her little boy, and myself. And the boy is dying—that’s the worst of it—oh! poor little chap, that is the worst of it! And his grandfather was so fond of him; he was selling the clock so that the boy and his mother should go away to Madeira, the only chance to save him, sir. The only chance that was left.
“the boy is dying.”
“And so he thought he would sell something valuable that did not belong to him, and go to Madeira at my expense, and——”
“You must not say my father stole it—you dare not!” she cried, and her eyes literally flashed fire at me. This young woman was as impulsive as her felonious father. Here was another scene likely to spring up in the street if I were not particularly careful, and I had had enough of demonstrations in the public highway.
“My good woman, what is it that you want with me?”
“I want you to hear how that clock came into my father’s possession, and then—and then prosecute him if you can. And at your peril, sir—please to understand, at your peril, though I utter no threats.”
“It strikes me you do.”